A Promise
by Perditus-Inquisitor
Summary: He's always been strong for her when she needed him. Now, it's her turn to be strong for him when he needs her.
1. Chapter 1

_**A.N. Disclaimers: I do not own Castle or any of the content.**_

 ** _I'm new to this website, so I have the ratings as 'M' for any form of violence or triggers!_**

 ** _I DO intend on creating later chapters and WILL! So, uh... do what you guys do here, I guess. Read, leave feed back, tell me if you like it._**

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He was always strong for her. Always. When she'd lose hope, he would guide her. When she wanted to give up, he'd give her strength. When she wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and just get over things, he'd bring her ice cream or a movie and wait until she was better. He promised her that he'd always have her back because that's what partners did for each other. He promised that he'd give her whatever she needed.

The least she felt she could do was return the favor as best as she could for him. She knew she wasn't the easiest person or the best person when it came to giving comfort. She knew she could be a hard ass and gave him a tough time about shadowing her. That didn't mean she didn't care about him. No. It definitely didn't mean she didn't care about him and with cases like their current case, she wondered when he'd break and just give in.

It had been over three hours of staring at the murder board, but her eyes kept flickering to the defeated look on his face. His once lively, blue eyes now a dull shade. The way the frown on his face revealed sagged lines and highlighted the dark circles under his eyes. What really got her was how he hadn't made a joke or quip, giving some theory or inappropriate comment. It was in the moments like this that she knew- she _knew_ –he wasn't alright, and she really wished he wouldn't have stuck around.

This wasn't her first case where a child had been murdered, where they'd been too late to save them, but it was his. It had been just five minutes before they were about to clock out, too, when she received the call. No one gave too much detail over the phone. So, when they arrived, there was a lingering silence in respect for the victim. The little girl wasn't even five and what made it harder on her team was the fact she was a red-head. Her body beaten and bruised, her hair matted with blood and knots, her pale skin covered in dirt and the dress she wore ripped.

He had never thrown up at a crime scene before, but when they arrived, Kate found herself rubbing small circles on his back while he emptied his stomach contents into a set of bushes. She was insistent that he go home to be with Alexis, and for a short while, he did. The writer went home to smother his daughter with hugs and he tried his hardest to sit through a movie with her, but after about two hours, he found himself back at the precinct.

"Go home, Castle," she finally told him. Her voice was soft and she was far from sounding demanding. It was creeping closer to twelve and, while they'd both stayed a lot later, she knew how emotionally tolling their case was.

He protested quickly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. Determination flared up because he honestly didn't want to go home. "No," he huffed. "I can't go home when there's someone murdering children out there!"

"You're useless burnt out," she told him quietly.

Esposito and Ryan looked over from their spots, eyeing the two. Empathy evident on their features. They currently didn't have a case. There was no I.D. on the child, no missing persons file for the little girl, no DOB, no TOD. There was absolutely nothing. They didn't have anything to go on and they didn't have any suspects. At the time, the best they could do was go home, rest up, and prepare for the next few days ahead.

Standing up from her chair, she offered her hand to him. "C'mon, Castle," she murmured. "The case will be here in the morning and we should have more to go on by then."

He grumbled another protest, but immediately caved. He was tired emotionally and fighting with his muse wouldn't help. So, his large palm fell heavily into hers, which earned him a small tug while her fingers curled around his hand in a death grip. He stood to his feet, but his gaze dropped to the floor. He didn't even look up at her once the entire elevator ride down or on the silent drive to his loft.

He only murmured a few words when she pulled up in front of his building, throwing her car into park. "Stay." He was pleading with her, knowing damn well that the moment he was dropped off she'd run back to the precinct and do exactly what she was telling him not to do.

She was tempted to tell him no, tell him that he needed to sleep, but when his hand had found hers and he tightened his grip, she couldn't say no. If anyone would have asked her if she'd ever share a bed with Richard Castle when they started working together, she would have said no. Though, as she toed her shoes off and unclipped her gun, setting it on the night stand, she realized he wasn't really that bad of a guy. He wasn't the playboy on page six. He wasn't the nine-year-old on a sugar rush. He wasn't some inhuman force that was out to make her miserable. He was Richard Castle; a father, a human, a person who could express his emotions properly.

She gave a soft sigh, her hand running through her hair before she stretched her sore, aching muscles. Her hazel orbs glanced up as he stepped out of the bathroom, clad in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt. "I can get you something to wear," he offered. He meant it innocently, his mind too drained to find a way to make it suggestive.

If anyone had asked him what he'd expect from his first time in bed with Detective Katherine Beckett, he would have given them a wild sex story based off of page 105. Tonight, though, he was just Rick and she was just Kate. Both of them worn from the day, both of them not looking forward to the days ahead while they played cat-and-mouse with a murderer. _If we even get a suspect_ , he reminded himself.

"I'm good." She quickly averted her gaze as she sat on the edge of the bed.

He stood, frozen in his spot for a while, a question searing his tongue, but not quite leaving his mouth to extinguish the burning sensation. It took him several minutes to even decide to move, plopping down next to her. "How do you do it?"

"What?" She asked, her hands moving to rest in her lap.

He was quiet for a moment, his teeth grazing against the inside of his cheek, chewing over the way to phrase his question. "How do you still do your job when you don't have anything?"

They had worked with much less before, but she didn't remind him of that. It was always different when it was a kid. It was different to think that a murderous sonovabitch could just walk away without proof or evidence, especially on a case like the one they were facing. "I have you," she told him honestly. It was more of a whisper. "I have your wild theories. I have a team that always does what they can to get answers. We've faced how many things? How many times have we almost died or been held at gun point? How many times have we beaten the odds? Castle, we always beat the odds. Always. So, this time it won't be any different," she assured him. "I know it looks bad right now, Rick, but we'll find them."

Shifting in the bed, she crossed her legs Indian style. Her arms moved to pull him into a hug. She wasn't sure it was a welcomed gesture at first, his lack of response unnerving. Though, after a moment, his arms wrapped around her, his face burying into her shoulder. She shifted again, changing their position. Scooting back just a little so she was propped up against the headboard, she tugged him along until he was able to lie down.

With the first shuddered breath, she had to bite her own lip to keep from crying herself. She could feel his tears as they stained her shirt, his arms tightening around her. He felt weak and he only waited for her to pull away, to bolt, to rub it in his face or use it against him to make a point that he didn't belong in her line of work. Though, her long delicate fingers just weaved through his hair, massaging scalp in an effort to calm him. Her other hand moved to rub between his shoulders.

Soft lips brushed against his temple, resting there for a moment as she spoke. "I promise, I'll catch him," she told him softly. He didn't respond. His throat swelled shut with emotion, his voice too broken and weak to make any other sound than a stifled groan.

She couldn't help how her own eyes had brimmed with tears or how a few escaped down her own cheeks, but she did her best to stay strong. She had to. He was always strong from her and now it was her turn to be strong for him. The writer had always made an effort to make her smile, to make her day brighter. Whether it would be with inappropriate work talk or just a simple coffee, he did his best. It was her turn to comfort him and cheer him up, facing the weary days ahead together.


	2. Chapter 2

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Castle or the characters.**_

 _ **This chapter may cause some viewers to be uncomfortable or upset!**_

 _ **Read at your own risk, please.**_

 ** _Hints of child abuse and sexual assault._**

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Her hazel eyes tried their best to adjust to the lighting in the morgue and, for the first time in her life, she realized how the white shade was very distasteful and annoying. The headache that had been forming in her head only grew as the light had seemingly amplified with every regretted step. Rephrase: it wasn't regret entirely. Staying with her partner for the night was actually for the best, but not getting sleep due to his crushing body weight? That's where the regret came into place.

"Lanie," Kate called, her voice rough from lack of sleep as she pushed the door open. "What have you got?"

The medical examiner turned up from the table, looked at her friend, and dropped her head back down to the paperwork in front of her before quickly doing a double take. The detective had dark circles under her eyes, her hair slightly a mess from her night, and she was still wearing the same clothing from the previous day. She seemed slightly paler, too. A sick looking color.

The disapproving look, lips drawn into a scowl, brows pulled closer together, and arms crossed was what the detective received. "Girl, did you spend the entire night at the precinct?" She started, more than ready to lecture. "Kate, we didn't have anything to go on. There's nothing you could have done and there was no reason-"

Kate shook her head no, quickly cutting her friend off. "I wasn't at the precinct," she murmured.

That only earned a quirked brow and her leaning forward, palms pressing against the stainless steel table in front of her. "Then what exactly were you doing?"

"I took Rick to his house and ended up staying the night," she explained before processing how it sounded. She held her hand up, quickly shaking her head. "Not like that. No. Definitely not like that. I had…. He just needed comfort."

"Naked comfort," her friend teased, trying to give as much humor as she could to the situation before breaking the news, destroying whatever happiness could have been left behind.

"I was fully clothed and so was he," she defended before giving a somewhat defeated looked.

Her best friend picked up on it right away. The way her shoulders slumped, how her hand rubbed against her face, pausing to pinch the bridge of her nose. She clearly needed a moment, fighting whatever it was she had been dealing with and facing. Though, when she deflected and turned the subject back to the case, the M.E. gave her a sympathetic look.

Waving for her to follow, she headed into the back room and to the mortuary cooling chamber. Opening the door to one of the small spaces, she pulled out the slab with the girl on it. Pulling the blanket from the the child's face, wanting to show some of respect, Lanie couldn't help the sad look that crossed over her face. Kate's hazel eyes trailed over the now cleaned up little girl, her pale skin still tinted with dark bruises, now a shade of blues, greys, and purples. Around them, the skin had started to yellow from the extended trauma. There was no longer blood matted in her hair, Lanie having done a superb job on cleaning their victim as best she could.

"Kate," she started, hesitantly tugging the sheet covering the girl's legs up. Not enough to defile or overly expose her body, but enough to show the bruising. Four fingers and a thumb had been left behind on either side of her legs. "There were traces of spermicide in," she started, but stopped. She couldn't even get herself to finish what she was saying.

Usually their forensic reports took days to get back, but she had it rushed and then had rushed them again to be sure her results were more conclusive than just a hiccup in the system. She watch as the detective's jaw tightened, her fist balling up. The only thought going through her mind was emptying an entire clip into whoever had been able to do such a horrible thing.

"Kate," Lanie used her friend's name, trying to pull her back from whatever world she was in. "There's more," she started. "COD was caused from drug overdose. There were traces of acetaminophen in her system and hydrocodone was embedded in the tissue. It didn't happen just once," she managed to get out, her throat swelling as she talked. "I'll try pulling prints off of the bruising, but I can't promise I'll get anything."

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she couldn't find the words. Though, her entire body felt as though it was shaking, and maybe it was. With rage and anger, but what else would anyone expect. "I…. I have to call this in. This means we have a predator on our hands and there could be another kid somewhere," she told her, quickly stepping out of the room.

The girl didn't even get to live long enough to have a life, to be a person. She was violated, hurt abused, and the worst thing is, it was probably accidental that they found her body in the first place. She could have suffered years of… Kate couldn't even stomach the thought. Instead, she buried her hand into her pocket and retrieved her cellphone. Fingers hesitant to tap in her captain's number, she shook her head. It would have been better for her to just go to his office and tell him in person.

She was tempted to tell her friend goodbye, but Lanie had already started to prep the body to see if she could get finger prints off of it. It was a task that they both knew most likely wouldn't work, nor would it hold up as actual evidence if it was only a partial. She hoped they got something, anything. Even if it was a partial, they'd be able to have some form of suspect if they could run it through their database and get a hit.

He felt better than he had the day before. That was the first thing he realized when he woke up. Definitely a lot better. Of course, when he rolled over, no recollection of Kate forcing him off of her to leave hours before, he was a bit disappointed. Maybe it was the thought that she didn't take him with her or maybe just her leaving in general, but it hurt. He rationalized it as her job. If she needed him, she'd call, and she always kept him informed. However, by the time he showed up, the writer realized quickly that there had been more to her disappearance than just her job.

He stepped out of the elevator onto the tiled floor, only to stop. The murder board had been completely wiped clean. There wasn't a single picture or note jotted down. "Kate," he started, panic rising in his voice. She hadn't given the case to someone else, did she?

The detective turned to look at him, an apologetic look on her face. She hadn't handed it off to someone else, but she knew he'd be upset. "Montgomery wants to see you," she told him quietly. She'd tell him herself, but she couldn't. She knew if she had to, she would, but she didn't want to.

******BCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBC*********

He frowned, quickly moving for the captain's off. Though, upon entering, he slowed. The man in the chair was far from the captain he'd seen on any other case. His face dull, his eyes boring into the pictures in front of him and his detective's current report from her visit to the M.E. He had chin resting against his fists. Age had shown through in dark lines and wrinkles that tugged at his skin until his eyes flickered up. Glazed over, full of pain, and wanting nothing more than all of this to be a horrible dream, he had cleared his throat.

"Mr. Castle," he greeted.

The writer almost rolled his eyes. When had they been that formal? Not for about a year or so. "Montgomery, what's going on?"

The captain was quick to his feet, gesturing to the seat opposite of him. "Sit." It wasn't an offer. He was giving a command, needing the writer to stay long enough for an explanation. To say he was happy the other man complied, it would be an understatement. He knew how hard headed he could be, one of the many reasons why he was so great of a partner with his detective. Both could get their way and they worked just like Yin and Yang.

Taking a deep breath, the man had paced for a moment. First he went towards the windows that allowed him to peer out to his detectives and then to the other side of the room to peer out into the city. Even for a beautiful fall day, Montgomery couldn't help but think of all of the bad in the world. His mouth did open several times before closing, he wasn't very sure where to behind.

"You're being removed from this case," he decided it was better to just be blunt and forward.

"What? Why the hell am I being removed?" He snapped, betrayal hitting him.

A soft sigh escaped his lips. "Castle, there's a little girl in our mortuary who has been assaulted," he started. "A little girl who reminds you of your daughter, and don't tell me you haven't associated the two." His tone was full of authority and demand. Any hit of amusement or joking was gone, and Roy couldn't help but feel like he was over stepping. He had kids, too. He knew what it was like to be a worried parent and wanting justice. "I need my best people on this without having to worry about my suspects being at risk of getting hurt."

"It hasn't even been a day," he argued. "I haven't done anything!"

"But your partner can't trust you to have her back in this."

Oh. Oh, this was Kate's doing? What the hell? She was the one who told him to go home and rest up. She was the one who convinced him to sleep, and she even stayed to comfort him. "Kate wants it this way?"

He wasn't supposed to really mention Kate, but he had to. Rick wouldn't have taken lightly to find it out differently. "Rick, she couldn't help it. I asked her what she thought of this case and you working it. She told me that it wasn't a good idea."

"Why?"

"It's my job to make sure my team is safe out there and that they can handle things emotionally. I need to do that without plastering this little girl's face all over the news, and I know that if I let you work this, you'll be more of a liability than me just handing you my gun and telling you to shoot off as you please."

Rick's eyes were filled with defiance, wanting to rebel and insist that he'd be fine, alright to work. Of course, he wasn't. He already hated whoever could hurt a child, but then it dawned on him that there was more. There had to be. What would have changed in the last twenty-four hours that would pull him from the case? She was more than willing to let him work it the day before. She just wanted him to go home and get some form of rest. What could have been so horrible that he'd be pulled?

He felt like he was entitled to an explanation. "What happened?"

"Rick," he started, shaking his head.

"No. You're removing from this case and I deserve to know more than just Kate not wanting me here!"

He chewed the inside of his cheek, contemplating the harm in telling him. It didn't seem like much. He wouldn't be able to get any more information than they already had, could he? So, on a soft sigh, he told him. "Sexual assault, Mr. Castle."

That answer had clearly been a slap to his face, shocking his entire system. At first, he waited for the cruel sign of joking, but when it never came, he nearly choked on his exhale. "You mean…." The man only nodded.

"Beckett didn't want you assign to this case when she found out because we all saw how it tore you apart yesterday. Castle, she's looking out for you. It's not a personal attack or her not wanting you as a partner," he assured the man. "But until we catch this SOB, you're not allowed to come here."

He opened his mouth, ready to insist that he had to work the case even more so. He had to make things better, make things right. Though, he doubted Montgomery would let him anywhere near it now. His large hands shaking, he wiped them over his face and leaned back into the chair. Emotions had already started to swell in his chest and his heart hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit.

"The department has protocol, too," Montgomery explained. "Everyone associated with this case has to go and see Dr. Burke. Cases like these are emotionally hard on everyone, and even Beckett has to see him," the dark skinned man explained. Leaning over to grab a folder with the paperwork needed in it, he offered it to the writer. "These will need to be filled out before you come back. It's just a few consent forms releasing you to work and clearing you. Burke will probably have you go twice. Once for his first session and the second as a follow up session."

Rick needed a moment to process everything, his head spinning in circles. He eventually did take the papers, standing, and then walking out. There was no goodbye or see you later. There was no glance back. Hell, he even walked right passed Kate without as much as a glance at her. She expected resentment of some sort, but received nothing, which hurt and scared her.

She hadn't meant to get him removed from the case, but it was what felt best. He always had her back. This time, she was just trying to have his. Even if it meant she hurt him a little, that was better than her jeopardizing her team's lives or someone else's because cases like this never went over well. Suspects look good for the crime, but didn't do it. Sometimes they walked when there wasn't enough to hold them or they didn't get put them away for good. Sometimes people close to them were targeted for revenge. Hell, sometimes there was more than just one victim. She wasn't going to subject him to that.

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 _ **Hey, guys! Sorry it took so long for me to update. Last Monday I had a doctor appointment and was moving. The Monday before that I was working. The Monday before that I had been plans to do things. . I'm sorry! I'll try my best to update multiple times this week to make up for the Monday's I missed!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Whoa! Two chapters in one day! I am on a roll! As for the previous reviews I received, I was going to reply to them, but Fanfiction is not letting me access them! It won't show me any of the reviews I have, even the ones before chapter 2.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own a damn thing.**_

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The thing about fall in New York was the outrageous temperature changes. Some days it was cold enough to be winter, other days it was hot enough to be summer. Either way, she had to deal with it alone. She didn't mean to get him kicked off the case, but she was told to do her best to profile her partner, to get a feel. She was honest. He wasn't fit for the case.

There was a difference when the problems were her own, and it would be different if it was his problem, but it wasn't. It was someone's daughter that resembled his own. Had it been his daughter, had he had an actual connection to the victim, she would have let him work. Similar hair color and features weren't enough. She remembered the first time she'd been pulled from a case.

It had been one of the first cases she worked as a homicide detective, and she had a hard time not getting close when a woman was murdered in an alley. It had reminded her of her mother. The only difference was appearance and location. She thought she could handle it, thought she'd be fine. However, she wasn't. Emotionally, it chipped away at her and Roy wasn't letting her fall back into a never ending loop. They want her out of that, she wanted out of that.

She wasn't reprimanding him or telling the writer it was wrong to feel. She wasn't trying to take that right away from him. She just needed to know that he would have her back in the case that something went wrong. It was like one of his book. There was no nice, easy end to it like Heat got or what Storm had. Real homicide work involved results that left some people unhappy. There were times where even the strongest NYPD detectives crumbled, blowing a case.

She had learned years ago that if she wanted results, she had to be careful. In children cases, especially. There were too many things that could get blown over if he went off and, while they'd been working together for about three years, she wasn't sure she could trust him to be that cool, calm partner she needed. As opposed to the regular murders they dealt with, children tended to leave a mark on the hearts of all people involved.

Her teeth chattered as she moved through the crowd, making her way to nearest playground of where they found the body. _The body_. It felt awful to refer to a little girl as a victim and as just the body in the morgue, but what else was she supposed to distance herself? Her eyes scanned around from the mothers who seemed to flock in a corner, chatting away. About what? She didn't know.

"Excuse me," she called out, making her way through playground. Her hand brushing her coat out of the way, grabbing her badge, she flashed it at the women. All stared in amusement, one whispering to the other about how she had seen the woman on the front of some magazine some odd number of years ago. "Kate Beckett, N-"

"NYPD," one of the woman squealed. "You work for Richard Castle. Is he here with you?"

Her facial expression fell, her teeth sinking into her tongue. Rick worked with her. She didn't work for him. Clipping her badge back onto her pants, she shook her head. "Look, can you just tell me if you've seen this little girl?" She grabbed the photo from her pocket, flashing it at the woman in front of her.

The women each took a look a turn, looking over the photo before one of the spoke up. "Oh, Robbie plays with her sometime on our way home!" She lowered the photo, quick to explain. "Robbie's my eight year old son. Great kid, loves soccer, and he even made honors this quarter."

"Ma'am, the girl," Kate pressed, wanting nothing more than to hear what this woman had to say on her case.

"Oh, right," she nodded. "Robbie!" She yelled, her son's head poking out of two bars on the slide. "Get down here right now, and how many times do I have to tell you! Your head is going to get stuck!"

The boy only rolled his eyes, easily removing his head from the bars and sliding down the slide. Running over to his mom, he looked between his mother and the detective, brows knit together. "Yeah?"

"Tell the nice detective what you know about that girl you play with on your way home."

He seemed genuinely confused before realizing who she was talking about. "Oh, you mean Amelia?" He asked, blinking. "I don't know much about her, but she likes my toy trucks and dinosaurs," he told her. A sudden look of worry did cross his face as he looked up. "Is she okay? Did she do something bad?"

"She didn't do anything wrong," Kate tried to assure him. It wasn't her place to break the news to him, or his mother. "Can you tell me about her parents?" She asked, crouching down to look at him.

"Well," he let his lips tug into a frown. "I…. I think her dad has brown eyes and dark hair. He sometimes smokes around us when we stop to play on the softball field," he told her. "I didn't like him. He blew smoke at his and he always smelled bad…. I didn't see Amelia yesterday… and she wasn't there today when we walked by. Is she okay?" He asked again, teary eyed. Why else would a cop be asking about her? "Did she do something bad? Is that why he looked angry today?"

Their suspect was there? "Do you think you could point him out for me?" She asked and the little boy nodded with confidence. "Mrs…." She paused, waiting or woman to give her name.

"Sarah Murphy," she stated. "Is everything alright? Why do you need my son to," she trailed off. Then the woman looked back down at the photo still held in her hand.

"Mrs. Murphy, you do not have to approach him, nor does your son, I just need him to simply point out who her dad is. I only have a few questions," she explained. However, the woman only paled. The little girl wasn't sleeping in the photo. She was dead.

Ryan and Esposito had been perched in their chairs after a long day running around the city. They had taken the blocks from 81st to 96th street with two other teams. Columbus Ave was buzzing with late lunch goers and then they had hit the crowds around 4. They figured that since their girl had been found between where 86th street ran into West drive in Central Park, their area location had been spread out.

Ryan had tons of footage to go through, Espo had thousands of people to call, and both knew they weren't going home anytime soon. It was worse that Castle wasn't there to make thing better for them, to tease them or make immature bets. Though, Espo had started to worry when Kate wasn't back.

"You think Mom and Dad will make up?" Ryan asked, referring to his colleagues.

Espo snorted. "When don't they? If she let him come back after the summer they had before, she'll always keep him by her side."

"Well, it's nice to know you two talk about us when we're not here."

They both jumped, turning to find Castle with two coffees. The writer wasn't supposed to be there, sure, but did anyone really expect him to just go home? He had paced around his loft for a couple hours, slamming doors and throwing papers around until he'd fallen asleep on his couch, body needing a break from his anger. By the time he had woken up, it was later in the afternoon.

He figured that talking to her would work. Maybe he could work something out that would allow Montgomery to grant him access to the case to help. Of course, she was nowhere to be seen or found. Go figure. The one time he brings her coffee and she'll end up drinking it cold. Well, there was a first time for everything he guessed.

He sat around, happily chatting away with the boys for an hour before anyone voice their concern. "Do you think Kate's okay?" Ryan finally asked, looking at his watch. Espo glanced at his watch before plucking his cellphone of the desk. Dialing her number, he almost had hit the call button when Montgomery stepped out of his office, a look of concern flashing over his face. He didn't even comment on Castle being there. Rather, he just looked around for Beckett. Where the hell was she?


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hey, guys! So, this chapter is a little longer. I apologize for any errors in this chapters. It was a late night of editing and, after about two hours of looking at my variety of stories and chapters I was working on for various stories, the words ended up blending together. Though, I think I cleared most of them out.**_

 _ **I would like to point out that since I have decided this is taking place somewhere in season 3, I am making this a little AU. There is no Josh involved. Sort of an "after Castle get's back from the Hamptons" and "pre-Josh" thing right now. I hadn't really planned on picking a season to have this in, but I did. So, sorry about that, guys.**_

 _ **You'll also notices that there are place and time stamps at the beginning and then the second part to just show change in time and a given date.**_

 _ **Enjoy.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not a goddamn thing.**_

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VERMONT

Saturday

6:47 PM

November 13, 2010

It felt comical. Hell, it probably looked comical. Like a drown rat or a cat who had gotten too close to the water and had fallen in, she was drenched, head to toe. Her body shook against the harsh cooling evening, and she continued on her path down the road. She didn't quite exactly remember how she'd managed to get there – wherever there was – but it couldn't have been easy. At least, that's what her tired, aching body convinced her of.

Her arms were covered in dirt and scratched, the sleeves of her coat ripped in various places to match her ruined jeans. It surprised her that she woke up with her gun and badge still clipped to her, but she'd be damned if she knew who she worked for, or what her name even was. The only thing she did remember was how to take apart her glock and how to aim, which seemed pretty useless given that she was alone.

Okay, so that was a lie. She had been remembering little things as she'd started to move hours before, traveling through the wooded area and onto the pavement. Just useless little things that hadn't seemed relevant, certain key phrases and images. She knew her dad's name was Jim. She knew her mom was dead. She knew that it was November. Other things included images of books stacked high, a bunch of files, and something to do with a kid. A few things did jump at her, too. Something called an 'Espo' and the name Kevin. She chalked the first up to be some type of coffee she might have liked. Maybe the barista's name was Kevin? Because God knows she hated making her own coffee, but her stupid caffeine addiction had usually forced her to.

She sighed, arms hugging her body tighter. It still was a mystery of why she was drenched. When she woke up, there was no water way near her. Just leaves of all colors and her limbs sprawled out against the cruel surface of the earth. She sighed, stopping herself from taking another step and plopping down on the guard rail.

Her pale hand shook as she peeled the fabric of her sleeve up, grimacing at the dark blues and purples swelling around her wrist. Her index finger traced over it softly, testing to see how much pain she could feel as she applied pressure. None. She couldn't feel a damn thing, but that was just her entire body at that point. Numb, cold, but determined to survive, she sighed. The air in front of her fogged as her breath hit it, her shoulders shaking as the temperature dropped. She'd be okay. She had to be okay.

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NEW YORK

8:34 PM

It had been days since they saw her. Rick putting most of the blame on himself as they finally threw their pictures together on a murder board. Her picture shouldn't have been plastered to it, and they couldn't even rule her out as alive. All they knew was that the last person to talk to her was dead. Sarah Murphy, mother of one with a husband overseas. They found her body stuffed into the trunk of her car, her son nowhere to be found. It baffled them all on how a mother could be murdered in the middle of central park and no one had seen it. No one had noticed a little boy or detective taken either. _What if she's dead? Or dying? Or being…_ He didn't let himself finish that though.

Kate Beckett was an untamable creature that couldn't be held down or broken. Well, she could be broken, but she had too much fight to let some punk predator get away with hurting anyone. At least, that's what he wanted to believe. That's what he needed to believe because he refused to find the woman he loved stuffed in the back of some car, treated like some meaningless piece of trash.

Loved. He loved her. Loves her. More than anything else, and he couldn't help as his icy blue eyes turned to glance at her desk. Once lively and energetic, they were tainted with sadness. He missed how she snapped at him for being staring, insisting it was a creepy gesture, or how her fingers held her pen so delicately. He even raised her chair, hoping she would come back to lecture him for sitting in her spot and readjusting the height of her seat.

He felt…. Empty. Like, the only way for him to function happily was to have her back, have her home. They weren't even dating, and he wanted her home. To the precinct or his loft so he could watch over her or anywhere she felt was home, he just wanted his Kate back. _His_ Kate. Even if it was just months before that she was angry at him, upset with him for whatever reason when he came back from his summer trip to the Hamptons, he didn't care.

Then his phone was buzzing, ringing to life in his pocket.

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The hospital lights were bright, but she was very thankful for the heating blankets the staff provided. Someone said they knew who she was, that her badge number had been reported as missing. However, no one told her who she was. It wasn't that they didn't want to help. They all did. They just had work protocol to go by and they encouraged her to remember on her own.

Doctors ran their tests, asking repetitive questions. People walked in and then walked out, just taking her vitals down. It was lonely. At least, it felt lonely to her and for her. So, she stared at the ceiling most of the time, calculating the area and perimeter of the tiles above it before counting each one individually. Some of the tiles had been stained from where water had leaked, other chipped at, some recently replaced. Either way, she could relate to them. No matter what they looked like, somewhere they were still them. They just needed to be polished and reminded.

Somewhere else in the hospital, Castle had set to work. It was just about four in the morning by the time the boys, Montgomery, Lanie, and Castle had arrived. Jim must have been asleep because he hadn't picked up when Rick called, but the writer left a detailed message of the location and what information had been available to him.

"Castle, calm down," Lanie urged, apologizing then to the doctor who looked a bit bewildered. "We're looking for Detective Kate Beckett," she started, patting the writer's shoulder. "This is her fiancé." It at least got him more information about her that way, even if it was a lie.

He slowly nodded then, about to ask who was all with him, when Roy and the boys flashed their badges. The doctor couldn't argue with that, or the fact that visitor hour didn't start for several more hours. New York was quite a drive. So, he was lenient, leading them down the hall as he explained what their reports said.

"She is very lucky," he started. Castle couldn't help but note that all doctors talked that way before delivering some type of punch. "When she was found, she was all but an icicle on the side of the road," he shrugged. "Even with her injuries."

"Injuries?"

"Yes," the doctor nodded. "She is very bruised and beat up. Some of the contusions and lacerations are comparable to falling, which that would explain all of the dirt and tears on her clothing. However, there are other bruises that formed in the shape of hand prints or that reflect being thrown from a car, if the makes sense. Though, aside from bruises and cuts, she does have several broken ribs and bruises."

"Why wouldn't Kate just call for help?" Ryan spoke up finally.

The doctor gave an apologetic look. "Your friend seems to have memory loss," he told them softly. "We're not sure if it's short term or long term. Her MRIs and CAT scans show no sign of blood clotting or any serious damage. However, she does have a concussion that we believe was sustained from fracturing her nose," he paused, finger pressing against the bridge of his nose and traveling up just a little to show where the fracture was. "It's nothing we are too concerned about in the sense of her recovery. It's just very difficult to examine her injuries without knowing the cause or if there was psychological or emotional trauma that could influence the loss of memories."

Everyone just stared for a moment, letting it sink in. Roy's eyes flickered to the man most affected by the news. He was tense, swallowing around the emotions building up. If he'd only stayed just a little longer and bothered her, followed her, done something, anything, she wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed in Vermont with no recollection of who she was or where she was.

"Detective Beckett," he stated respectfully. "Isn't supposed to have visitors until eight, but I'm going to allow two of you to see her before then. I'd tell all of you that you can see her, but I could lose my job as it for even bringing friends or family back here at the current hour."

Roy nodded, understanding. "Thank you, Doctor," he murmured. "We'll decide on who's staying and the rest of us will go." To a hotel, of course. Rick had babbled away in the car that if they planned on going with him when he had gotten the call, he'd be more than happy to provide rooms for them. He even made the call already, but everyone knew none of them would be getting much sleep that night.

"I think Castle should stay," the Irishman spoke again. Javi nodded, agreeing. "I mean, he's better for Kate here than burning himself out on the case, and maybe he'll stir something up for her, get her going again."

"And Lanie should stay," Espo spoke. "That way, if you act up, Writer-Boy, she can just hid the body in the morgue," he joked.

Once they had decided that, Roy bid the medical examiner and writer a goodnight with a promise to see them in a few hours. The two lingered in the hall for a bit after everyone else left, Castle still processing everything, and Lanie waiting for him. "It's not your fault."

He just shook his head. "I could have stayed, fought harder on leaving instead of just…. Leaving," he shrugged. "What if she can't remember?"

"Well, if she can't remember, we just help her alone, and if she does remember, we still help her along. Rick," she sighed, crossing her arms a bit. "I know you're scared that the last three years will be for nothing, but… I know Kate, okay? She's stubborn, a fighter, and what she's felt for you is still going to be there."

"What- That's not what I-…" He tried lying, tried brushing his feelings off.

She only shook her head. "No. Uh-uh. You don't get to sit here and lie to me. Not right now because you two are just so black and white at this point. So, why can't you two see that?" She didn't give him time to explain then, heading for the door. "The best way to figure out how to plan these things or around them, sweetie, is to face them head on," she told him.

"Okay," he finally spoke, following instep behind her. He could only say okay and hope that it would all be okay. There wasn't much more he could do.

Inside that little white room, Kate was definitely feeling the morphine kick in. There wasn't pain in her head or anywhere, honestly. When they brought her in and forced her to warm up, it all burned and then there were dull aches. Those dull aches turned into feeling like she'd been stabbed with pins and needles, but now? Oh, now she was on cloud nine.

At the soft click of the door opening, a creepy creak sounding from it, she turned her head to look at the new visitors. Something emotionally stirred inside her at the sight of both of them, whoever they were. The woman was dressed in a dark coat, with a red blouse on that fell just above the pockets of her jeans. Her eyes had pricked with tears at some point and now there was free flow down her face, and the guy. His hair was disheveled; two of the buttons on his shirt done wrong, and his pants were worn out as if he'd been sitting in them for days.

What they saw was a woman splotched in bruises and cuts around her arms, the white gown amplifying the darker colors on her pale skin. Her face was tinted with red and between her eyes, just above the bridge of her nose, was a single stitch that held together a deep little cut that had aided in the reddish color on her features. Her own hazel eyes having glazed over for some unknown reason to her, Lanie could at least rule out that she wasn't emotionally traumatized, that she still could connect people and her feelings.

"I'm sorry," she spoke up, her tired arm lifting so she could rub at the tear that escaped down her cheek, removing a dusty shade left from dirt. "I don't even know who you two are," she laughed a bit, grimacing at the pain in her ribs.

The ME was about to tell her that apologizing wasn't necessary, but Rick was already stepping forward to at least touch the woman, to make sure she was really there. "Hey, no apologizing," he quickly cooed to her. "Just take it easy." But as he neared, he faltered in step, realizing that she might not be comfortable with him.

His blue eyes met her green and he stared in the abyss of question and confusion, but welcomed any form of contact she could get. She just wanted to feel somewhat okay because she clearly was missing a lot. "What's an Espo?" Because the doctor's had given her really odd looks when they asked if she was hungry or wanted something to eat. Coffee wasn't allowed, but she still requested an "Espo."

"What?" the dark skinned woman asked, rubbing at her eye.

"An…. Espo….? Is it…. A coffee or something?"

Both the visitors gave glances at each other before looking at her. "You mean expresso?" Lanie tried, thumb rubbing against the skin under her eye to catch any moisture there.

"No. I mean, Espo."

"Like…. Esposito and Ryan?" Castle tried.

Her cheeks darkened in color. "Oh." Clearly an "Espo" was a person, and she just couldn't put that together in her head, which it was very frustrating now that it was pointed out.

"Kate, it's going to be okay," he told her softly, hesitantly sitting on the edge of her bed. She did flinch a little, but eventually eased, her heart monitor beeping a few times at the sudden spike before falling back to its rhythmical tone. "It's going to be okay." That's all he could offer her.

"My name's….. Kate," she processed. Well, that felt great to know because it was a piece of information she lacked. He was quick to give Lanie a questioning glance, hoping it was okay he revealed that to her. Shit. She didn't even know her name, but she knew Espo? Of course, she did think he was a drink. "Who…. Who are you two?"

Rick couldn't hold the few tears back or the soft apology forming on his lips, but the woman was quick to give answers. The doctor didn't say she couldn't reveal certain information, and they were probably past that point of secrecy anyway. "I'm Lanie Parish, your best friend," she told the detective, her hand reaching to grab hers, careful of the bruises. "And this….." She waited a bit, but she decided Rick wasn't going to get to answer himself. "This is your fiancé, Richard Castle."

Castle looked at the medical examiner through teary eyes, trying to give her his best disapproving look, but it was too late. He couldn't undo what Lanie had said, and Kate already looked like struck puppy. At the lie her friend told, he thought she'd have looked sadder, but instead she looked….. hopeful with a hint of apology.

"I'm…. sorry," she told him again. "I….. I wish I could remember, but I don't," she told him quietly, offering her other hand to him reluctantly.

It was too late for that, his body already moving crash into hers like the days before when she held him in his bed and let him cry. His face burying against her shoulder, he inhaled her scent. Even if it was thick layers of dirt and sweat, she still smelled like her. It was just more of a nature scent, and damn it, he'd tease her about it when she was better. He'd tease her about it when they could look back at the moment and laugh.

One hand planted on one side of her leg, the other finding a place on her back as he slid his arm gently behind her, her couldn't help but apologize. "I'm…. I'm so sorry, Kate," he murmured between the soft sobs he managed to choke out. Why did bad things happen to them? "So sorry," he murmured. He just wanted her back, to remember, to be in New York.

"Hey," she tried, swallowing around the lump in her throat. Lanie was in even more tears, trying to stifle her sobs, and Rick was crying against her gown. She felt pretty freaking special, but she just didn't know what it was that she had done. So, to make up for lack of memory, she decided to just be strong for them. "If I'm not allowed to apologize…. You're not, okay? You didn't….. You didn't put me here or do anything to hurt me." She was sure he didn't.

That didn't stop his murmurs of sorry, though. If not, it only fueled them until he felt her cheek against his temple, her soft breath tickling the top of his ear. She squeezed Lanie's hand to try and get her friend to stop before humming softly to the writer. It was going to be okay. He said it was, and even if she only knew him for all of five minutes, she trusted him a lot more than she felt she'd trust anyone else.


End file.
